In States of Metamorphosis
by AnimeSiren
Summary: Five: Eames thinks showing up at Arthur's door room is a fantastic idea. Collection of unrelated ficlets.
1. Chapter 1

**In States of Metamorphoses**

**Drabble One**

_Enjoy_

**X-_X-_X**

Dom let his eyes lower, thinking hard about the question he'd just been asked. He felt the cold of the warehouse ebb closer to his bones, and he felt the emotions he tried to keep at bay begin to dance threateningly close to him.

"It's complicated," he replied, after an augmented pause.

Ariadne's eyebrows furrowed in skepticism. She may be new to the world of dream sharing, but even she didn't accept that answer. She swallowed one comment, realizing who she was talking to, and then voiced another "Everything is essentially complicated—but complicated is just a long list of simplicities."

Just for a moment Cobb looked her in the eye, '_She _is_ Miles' student after all,_' he said to himself, resisting the urge to grin at what he believed as the Professor's words coming through Ariadne.

"What happens when you've been using the PASIV for an extended amount of time?" he said, using the brusque tone of authority mixed with nurturing that he had first used to speak with her, so many months ago in Paris "What happens to your dreams?"

"You stop dreaming on your own," she replied immediately. She tossed the end of her scarf over her shoulder and leaned further in her chair "You require the PASIV and Somnacin to be able to dream."

"Exactly," Dom replied, nodding.

"It's a tragedy."

Cobb raised an eyebrow, a taunting have smirk on his face. "That's the best answer to your question. It's 'tragedy'."

Ariadne didn't take the dubious expression off her face. "So that's your answer? That's how dream sharers live out their lives? It's 'tragedy'?"

"Think about it."

Dom leaned forward; he raised a hand passively in front of him, his eyes narrowing. "Look at the people that have surrounded us," he intoned quietly "The people you've shared dreams with."

"Arthur," Ariadne replied "What about Arthur?"

Dom licked his bottom lip, not entirely liking the reality he was going to tell her "Arthur will be the most excellent point man in extractions for more years than any of the rest of us will be in the game."

"Yes," Ariadne said dryly "I can see the tragedy already."

"No," Cobb waved his hand impatiently "Think about it. I can't dream anymore, Arthur barely has a real dream anymore. Eventually dreams will stop for him as well. He'll continue on for a few years, eventually he'll begin to see everyone as a mark, he'll not be able to differentiate what information he's supposed to be stealing from them, he'll sink into the addiction of the PASIV and the somnacin, he'll begin dreaming more and more, spending less and less time in reality."

"How can you be sure?" Ariadne asked, the future that Cobb painted affecting her more than she would allow to show. It looked so bleak.

"Because that was my future," Cobb said steadily. Ever since he'd been back in America he hadn't extracted with any member of the team once, he also hadn't had a single dream either. If he hadn't been allowed to get back to his children he knows the future he would have had.

"Can you imagine being a point man?" Cobb prodded "He is solely responsible for the information the team makes decisions on, and for what happens in the dreams. He needs to be prepared for the dream shifting in any way. Can you imagine living with that level of paranoia not only in dreams but in reality as well? Can you imagine if you couldn't tell you were awake anymore and you carried that paranoia for years?"

"I see what you mean," said Ariadne after a brief pause. "But I think a person can still change that."

Dom stood swiftly "Look at Eames—he's always so calm right?"

Ariadne didn't reply, she let Cobb begin to pace around the small deserted section of warehouse un-disturbed. She had latched onto the opportunity to pick his brain when he had showed up ready to help the team plan, if not to dream.

"Eames is a forger." Cobb said "His pride and glory is mixing reality into dreams, cloaking the eyes of the marks. What happens when he loses the idea of who he was originally? After so many years under the influence of somnacin how long do you think he'll be able to put up with all the psyches he's been forced to become, person after person that he's required to emulate? What happens when Eames loses _Eames_?"

Ariadne stayed silent.

"Even Yusuf doesn't dream anymore," Cobb said, though his brief swell of emotion was leveling down again. He sighed.

"I know a lot of people in this business," he said, turning and crossing his arms, squinting at the dull concrete floor. "You want to know how these people end up? What happens when you live an entire life of dream sharing?"

"Look at Mal, Ariadne, Jesus, just look at what happened to Mal," Dom said, his voice less choked than it would have been a month ago.

Ariadne instantly felt guilty, of course she shouldn't have asked Cobb this question, not when she had Mal as an example in front of her.

"So many people get lost," Dom continued, his tone was solemn "So many people can no longer test reality apart from dreams, so many people put themselves under with the PASIV until their bodies waste away in the chairs they sleep in, so many people just give up."

"You didn't," Ariadne spoke up, she tried to make her tone subtle, but the defiance wasn't easy to strip out of it.

"I'm one of the few," Cobb acquiesced, sliding back down into his chair. "I had something that made reality so much more appealing than dreams, a lot of people don't."

They were silent for a while. It was companionable, the same as the silences they shared when planning for inception, both too preoccupied with thoughts to speak. They were so similar.

"What do you think is going to happen to you?" Dom asked, breaking the silence in a soft pleading tone. He wanted her to understand. He smiled across at her sadly "I may have damned you by recruiting you."

"I don't know," Ariadne whispered back.

"We have an extraordinary opportunity, being able to share dreams," Dom's voice became rough, his eyes shining a little too brightly "But we pay Morpheus an extraordinary price for that ability."

**X-_X-_X**

_**I hope that you enjoyed reading, feel free to leave a comment or thought.**_

_**-AnimeSiren**_


	2. Chapter 2

**In States of Metamorphosis**

**Drabble Two**

_Enjoy_

**X-_X-_X**

Arthur pauses in the doorway between his office and the living room. Five seconds previous to this action it had been a regular, average night.

He had come home to his house the same way he had every night since he returned from the Belize job. After dinner, bantering conversation, and house chores he had retired to his office to research the many things of his life that required near constant monitoring (whether any hits had been placed on him, or Eames (most often Eames), recently, whether he had missed his mother's birthday _again_, and occasionally he used the time to partake in a bit of insider trading).

It was normal. It was practical (For a mind thief).

So, really. Why was he shell shocked by the image that greeted him?

Sandy hair, impossibly bright logo'd shirt, and burberry checked sweat pants made up the casual appearance of the man who was snoring lightly on Arthur's three thousand dollar distressed leather sofa.

Well. Arthur cocked his head to the side, attempting to put a label on the unfathomable feeling that had erupted in his stomach worse than acid reflux.

Eames was on his couch. So what? Eames has been on his couch before. Eames had even, on multiple occasions, been naked on his couch before. It shouldn't be a big deal.

Arthur paused. He flicked the office light switch off and tried to think back to recent months. Eames and he had been having regular sex for about six months (Arthur furrowed his brow. They had started in June right? Yeah, it was hot out, and that furry mob boss from Kuala Lampur had been trying to kill them.)

Then Eames had starting spending most of his downtime at Arthur's. (Arthur's brow furrowed even further. That had been in September right? Yeah, because Eames had insisted that he had to follow Arthur home from the Dallas job so that he could properly check Arthur's smoke detectors.)

Then, as a _"Really, pet, one mustn't neglect basic fire safety" _floated briefly to the front of Arthur's mind he attempted to connect a few more dots. (And really, at this point Arthur should remember that if he furrows his brow any further there's no guaranteeing it won't stay that way.)

After another moment of pensive thought Arthur's mind shuttered to a really chaotic train wreck of a stop. "Shit," he muttered. His brow immediately de-furrowed as his eyes shot wide open in genuine astonishment.

Well, huh, it looked like somewhere along the line Eames had moved in with him. Arthur supposed that he should have noticed that at some point being that he was a point man of elite recognition.

So that's where those horrible Thanksgiving decorations appeared from. Arthur shouldn't have been surprised. The man lacked taste, and he was British. Arthur was certain that somewhere between kindergarten and first grade he had learned that Thansgiving was an _American_ holiday. (But, really. Try telling that to a man that once insisted for the entirety of three hours that it was of utmost necessity that he forged Cher on their current job.)

Arthur padded quietly to the couch and then around it. He picked up the television remote and silently switched off the Bill Maher re-run that Eames seemed to have fallen asleep to. Arthur was trying to keep up with his mind as he processed what the presence of the man napping on his couch meant.

Arthur felt the makings of an ear splitting grin steal its way across his normally stoic visage.

Arthur took a few steps towards his bedroom before glancing down and realizing that the remote was still clutched loosely in his hand. Arthur breathed out a chuckle and then tossed it over his shoulder in the vicinity of the couch.

He had half expected to hear an indignant grunt and retort as the remote landed on the Englishman's stomach. When no such sounds were forth coming Arthur turned to look back at the couch.

Eames was just sitting up. The remote he had deftly caught was in his left hand. He was looking at Arthur.

Well, _damn_, Arthur thought. It looked as though Eames hadn't really been asleep after all.

"Time for bed already, darling?" Eames mused. Arthur's eyes found their way to Eames'. Eames was returning his gaze far too softly, and with far too much understanding for Arthur not to be surprised.

Arthur hummed a response, smiled, and then led the way to their bedroom.

**X-_X-_X**

_**This is by no means what I am supposed to be writing right now, however who can really deny Inception? I have three other long Inception stories planned, which is horrible considering I am back months on updates in other fandoms. Sigh. Hope you enjoyed! -AnimSiren**_


	3. Chapter 3

**In States of Metamorphosis**

**Drabble Three**

_Enjoy_

**X-_X-_X**

All of a sudden for a moment, just a moment, Ariadne felt like she was in a dream.

She panicked.

Looking around her with wide eyes she saw the lecture hall, the other students, and the professor gesturing at the front. Her mind felt sluggish though, and her eyes widened in adrenaline driven fear before she released a breath and relaxed.

She had walked into this room not half an hour ago. She had awoken in her apartment this morning, had eaten breakfast, and had walked all the way to the University. Ariadne had been prepared to start her first semester back at the school after inception.

Ariadne knew how she had gotten where she was. She wasn't dreaming.

Ariadne couldn't help the seeping disappointment that was stretching its way across her body. She missed the dream world more than she thought possible, and even if someone had put her under to extract from her it would have meant that she had the chance to taste dreamshare again.

The summer had been surreal. Ariadne had drifted anywhere her fancy took her. She had reveled in a new sense of freedom. But coming back to the University was like submitting to the life of a commoner after having lived the life of a queen.

It was frustrating. An itch had crawled under her skin and refused to leave again.

Ariadne began to have to focus on her breathing. It was difficult to sit at her nondescript desk and look at her classmates and pretend she was one of them. It was impossible to not shout her secret in their faces.

Ariadne put a hand flat against her desk to steady herself. She breathed out. She breathed in.

Then she opened her eyes and let her panic grip her.

Ariadne packed her notebook and sketching supplies away as noiselessly as she could but when she made her way along the row she bumped her hip into a desk, stumbling. Fresh panic and anxiety flooded her veins and then she sprinted as fast from the classroom as she could.

Miles watched her go from his position behind the podium. He felt weary.

X-_X-_X

A cool Parisian evening was what Ariadne had always most enjoyed about the city. After the sun had set the city famous for life and adventure seemed to, as a collective whole, take a breath and still. It didn't last long, but it did last long enough for Ariadne to find herself strolling along campus, a last ditch attempt to escape the solitude of her apartment.

She could stand here, in the center of what had been all she could see and breathe just a few months ago, and she could remember why she fell in love with every brick of the place.

Everything about the school, and about the city, was what Ariadne had always dreamed of. She used to be able to sit and draw the school's structures over and over again. She used to be content with immersing herself in the architecture and just floating there.

All she sketched these days were vast cityscapes, paradoxical anomalies, and mazes upon mazes.

Ariadne sat, defeated, on the nearest stone bench.

The truth was something she hadn't noticed over the summer. When she was still flying high in the afterglow of a job well done she hadn't noticed much of anything else. The thing was…

The thing was she hadn't gotten a call.

No job offers, and no word from Arthur or any of the other team members. There wasn't a link to their world anywhere, not one that she could find. To her, she'd been stranded in normalcy and left to drown there.

Reality wasn't enough for her anymore, and the fact that she could recognize that, after only one job, made her fear for her life more than she ever had in the past. Even when the threat of limbo loomed over her in a crumbling city of Mal and Dom's failed dreams she hadn't feared for her life like she did currently.

Stars twinkled above her in the city of living dreams and all Ariadne could think about was the gift of pure creation.

"My dear girl."

Ariadne stilled, but even without turning she knew that the words were for her. The sympathy was raw, and all too easy to notice. The owner of the voice knew every thought in her mind right now.

Ariadne turned "Professor." She tried to smile at the man but couldn't even bring the corners of her mouth to curve upwards.

Miles stood not too far off, staring at her. It wasn't hard to imagine what he saw. Whether it was the ghost of his dead daughter, in the form of another young woman lost to world of dreams, or just a student poised in evidence of having wasted her chance at life.

Ariadne shifted farther down the bench when the man sat down next to her. Was guilt the reason why she couldn't look the much loved professor in the eye? Ariadne could only assume that it was.

Miles spoke without preamble. "We can recognize very few gifts of reality," he began "To us the dream offers more than we can imagine."

"I know," Ariadne murmured, instead of staying silent.

"Reality becomes the droll joke, the prediction that always becomes real," he gestured "After a fashion reality becomes as stale as rainwater."

Ariadne was shocked to realize that her eyes were moistening. Her hands clenched in her lap.

"When I stopped researching for the dreamshare program," Miles continued, his voice was calm and relaxed "I had anchors to hold onto, but anchors that I knew wouldn't always be there for me."

"I had a wife that I loved," he said "And…a daughter."

Ariadne's lips moved but nothing came out.

"Even with such great joys in the waking world I still felt the burn and yearned for what lay at the end of the IV line," Miles reclined back against the mottled brick wall. "I had made dreamshare my world for so long that for a while I didn't understand how I could live without it."

Finally Miles turned to look right at Ariadne, who, for the life of her, couldn't bring herself to look away from the sincerity that was shining at her from the elderly man's eyes. Ariadne felt the water in her eyes well up and overflow, salty tracks making their way across her cheeks.

"I know exactly what you are thinking, what you are going through," he reached over to clasp a hand on her shoulder.

"I shot your daughter," Ariadne's voice shook, and barely rose above a whisper. Miles' hand tightened almost imperceptibly on her shoulder.

"Well," he replied after a pause, his voice raspier than before, and his eyes hooded "The way Dom tells it, you saved his life."

Ariadne couldn't stop the ball of grief that welled in the pit of her stomach and she immediately ducked her head so that the professor wouldn't have to see her sob.

"This is a horrible life," Miles continued, standing. Ariadne wasn't sure which life he was referring to. Whether he meant that way she existed now, half in the past and in dreams and half in the life of a respectable student, or whether he meant the pursuit of the life that he had left behind him. After another moment Ariadne rationed that he could even mean the life of normalcy that she had returned to.

"It will eat you up," he warned "And it will leave absolutely nothing behind."

Ariadne stubbornly wiped at the tears. "There is good in a life of dreams isn't there?" she insisted "There's fantastic things to be found there."

"Oh yes," he said nodding.

Miles looked around them, the city finally coming to life for its nighttime wonders. "This is something that I caution you to choose. It's not a life that you can fall into. You have to _choose_."

Ariadne was already reaching into her jacket's inside pocket as he walked away. When she pulled the chess piece out, letting it lay in the palm of her hand, her tears had already ceased.

She looked down the path that Miles had taken and she smiled. Then, she grinned.

"He's right," she told the chess piece "It's been up to me this whole time. It's been my choice."

Ariadne stood. She laughed out loud and pulled her mobile from her pocket. Soon, she was pressing buttons and jogging away from the school, away from classrooms and grades, and away from normalcy.

It had always been up to her.

She finished dialing and broke out into a light sprint, already planning out how she would pack in her mind. Where she would buy her ticket; where she would catch a taxi to the airport. The phone rang and rang.

It was possible the number didn't even work anymore. It had been a number passed off to her moments before getting on a flight to LAX. It was assured that if she were followed after the job this would be the number she should call. She had never had a reason to call it.

"_Hello?__"_

Ariadne laughed "Arthur," she breathed out "I made up my mind…I'm in."

**X-_X-_X**

_**I always thought Ariadne wouldn't just seamlessly fall into the life of dreamshare, I figured it would take a bit more than that. Though poor Miles, having to watch her choose can't be easy for him.**_

_**I hope you enjoyed!**_


	4. Chapter 4

**In States of Metamorphosis**

_Enjoy_

**X-_X-_X**

It was a marvel.

Eames could feel each breath of Arthur's as he inhaled and exhaled. He could feel the other man's chest rise, and he could feel warm breath on his neck when Arthur exhaled. It was proof that the other man was really there beside him. That Eames hadn't imagined this as a cruel, teasing fantasy.

Eames wondered when he had become lucky enough for this to be his reality.

He was in a bed he shared with Arthur, in an apartment he shared with Arthur, in a city that Arthur willing explored every day with Eames. Arthur shared a life with Eames, and Eames could barely breathe himself for how breathless that thought left him.

The lights in the room were off but Eames could still see Arthur's features. His eyes closed; his mouth slack with sleep, his forehead smooth with untroubled sleep. This was Arthur lying beside him.

Arthur trusted him.

That thought alone sometimes made Eames feel as if he were too weak to ever walk again. It made him stutter in whatever he was doing. It made him feel as though he had won everything; every take there ever could be.

Eames moved a hand in the lightest of movements up and down Arthur's back. He skimmed just above the man's t-shirt and could just make out the warmth of the body beneath.

Arthur trusted him.

Sometimes the thought was so strong and so astounding that it formed a mantra in Eames' head and he was unable to think of little else for entire minutes. It made him _unnerved_ in the most exquisite way.

It made Eames' decision, his choice, alarmingly easy.

Eames' other hand held two platinum bands, one sized for Arthur, the other sized for himself. He'd hidden them for days, and today he'd kept them in the pocket of his pants, nervous for the entirety of the day. He kept them with him as he slid into bed, marveling again as Arthur merely shifted to wrap strong arms around him, his eyes not even open. Another example of how much he was willing to trust Eames.

Eames had never had that level of trust from anyone that truly mattered before. He'd had no problem with living his life the way he had up until now. He tended to trust no one, tended to falsify everything he did with lies, and had certainly never willingly cared for someone as dangerous as Arthur before.

Eames transferred one of the bands to his other hand, carefully not jarring Arthur. He reached down; picked up the left hand Arthur had carelessly stretched across Eames' stomach, and slid the ring down the appropriate finger until it was past the knuckle and resting firmly.

Arthur's breath hitched, more than likely at the sensation of the cool platinum, but he didn't wake and after a moment his breathing evened out again.

Eames dropped his head back against his pillow, letting out a breath. Relief was flooding his veins; he'd been so nervous up until this point.

Eames hooked the second ring onto his own finger and relaxed a little further. He looked back down at the man that trusted him enough to rest beside him at night. Eames thought this was the height of his good luck, and figured that he should avoid both casinos and Interpol from now on. He was sure that anything besides this right here, lying beside this man, would be pushing the envelope. There wasn't any luck left in the world because Eames had used it all up.

Eames snaked a hand around Arthur and followed the skin of Arthur's arm down to his wrist. He pressed two fingers lightly against Arthur's wrist and steadied his own breath as he measured the beats of Arthur's pulse.

Eames breathed out when Arthur did.

Eames breathed in when Arthur did.

Eames matched every breath, movement, and heartbeat to Arthur's own. He reveled in the nearness of the only other person in the world that would ever matter to Eames.

It was a marvel. It was a gift.

It was a marvel that this was really Eames' reality.


	5. Chapter 5

**In States of Metamorphosis**

_Enjoy_

**X-_X-_X**

"It's just like magic," Arthur greets Eames dryly "I mention my roommate's gone for the night and you show up within minutes."

"Aren't you happy to see me, Arthur?" Eames was out of place in the residence hall. Eames worked in the city and he and Arthur had met off campus, and hadn't realized their eight year age difference until after some drunken tumbling.

Now Eames never missed an opportunity to boast about his 'young, sexy, nubile, undergraduate boyfriend'. He normally chose to announce it in public settings, and in a voice that Arthur generally didn't deem to be an 'inside voice'.

"Delighted." Arthur opened the door all the way so that he could glare more effectively at Eames. He tapped the pen he was still holding loosely in his hand against his thigh. "How did you even get in here?"

Eames was leaning against the concrete wall with a particularly smug grin on his face "Dormitory security is subpar as far as I'm concerned."

"Clearly," Arthur rolled his eyes, slouching into his doorway and idly eyeing his RA's door down the hall. "I take it they're hoping that theft, harassment and sexual assault magically disappear on their own."

Eames seemed delighted at Arthur's retort and herded forward into the undergraduate's doorway "I'll show you sexual assault," he mutters, placing his hands possessively on Arthur's waist.

"Mrmph," Arthur stumbled back a bit when their lips met in an embrace a bit more heated then he had expected. His socks weren't doing much as far as grip was concerned. Arthur was breathing raggedly by the time they broke apart and was hoping that Cobb, the RA, wasn't around the hall. "That's certainly not the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to me."

"If you want me to be romantic," Eames began, tugging Arthur's t-shirt and bringing them close together again "Then I'm certainly amenable to pulling out the bloody poetry if need be."

Arthur knew it wasn't an idle threat. He'd once made a similar statement and then been forced to endure Eames reciting Samuel Taylor Coleridge mid-coitus.

Arthur got distracted by the kissing again, which he definitely wasn't protesting, but when Eames began shuffling them into Arthur's room and towards the bed Arthur shoved at Eames and demanded "Close my door."

"Are we not feeling adventurous this evening? You are a demonstration I would _love_ to show."

"Eames, shut the damn door or leave. Without sex."

Eames huffed out a put upon sigh and travelled back the five feet that was necessary to shove the door closed. "It's not like they haven't heard everything we've said anyway. Concrete's not exactly the most soundproof material, darling."

"I don't care," Arthur reached back out to wrap his arms around Eames again. "They can hear us fuck from behind a closed door, not an open one."

"Ah, so there is a little exhibitionist in you, pet."

"You can stop sounding so delighted anytime."

Eames grinned "Mm, guess I'll get down to business then."

Arthur just rolled his eyes. Sometimes, with older British boyfriends in particular, it was easier to just shut a person up than to waste time telling them to shut up. Eames was particularly responsive to this type of approach.

**X-_X-_X**

**A little fluffier than I tend to go, something not A/E will be up next to shake things up, probably some sort of angst. Lol, I know how my mind works.**


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